


The Prisoner

by CaptainLevi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Meet Differently, Case Fic, Inspired by Prison Break, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Organized Crime, POV John Watson, Prison, Prisoner Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLevi/pseuds/CaptainLevi
Summary: John Watson starts working as a prison doctor and meets a gorgeous man, only problem is that he is an inmate.Heavily based on Prison Break, although it isn't the same plot at all.





	1. Chapter 1

'New fish'  
That's what the CO's and con's called the new batch of inmates arriving at Pentonville. New fish being dumped into the tiny, already overcrowded bowl.  
For some reason, or perhaps for reasons known by all but spoken by none, guards perceived the fresh wave with a predatory look equal to that of old inmates. This was John's first time witnessing the arrival of new men at the prison, as he had only been working there for two months.  
John had returned from Afghanistan with a shattered shoulder and a starved addiction to adrenaline. His struggle reached the verge of breakdown before he decided to do something about it. He tried to consider what adrenaline junkies usually did to satisfy their peculiar urges. Some of them played rough sports, but John's rugby days were over the moment a bullet pierced a hole right above his pectoral muscle. Others found jobs that provided a sense of danger similar to that of the war, like security guards, firefighters, and body guards. But one of the reasons that had made John feel balanced and functional in the military was the utilization of his medical skills as well as his combat skills.  
So, it was only natural that he seized the opportunity to take this job. A prison doctor may not be the best pay or the easiest circumstances for a retired soldier, but it provided just what he needed. The full use of his skills as a doctor and a soldier, though the latter was not officially in the job description. Since he had started this job, his nightmares have been less severe, though not completely at bay, and he hadn't been feeling like he was going insane.  
Knife wounds, lacerations, bruises, and numerous variations of suicide attempts flowed through the infirmary almost on a daily basis. Danger loomed at all times as interracial fights threatened to break or prisoners showed signs of an upcoming riot. John felt at home.  
He sipped his tea as he skimmed through the medical files of the new arrivals. Nothing unusual. They were all healthy enough to fight and maim each other however they wish inside these walls, except… John stopped at one file. It was the mugshot that drew his attention: A pale face with eyes that could only be described as intelligent. He did not look like the other addicts, thieves, and rapists, if anything he looked posh with those shiny curls. John's eyes slid on the information listed below the picture. The inmate had diabetes type 1, which meant he needed insulin shots on a daily basis.  
The speakers outside on the premises were repeatedly sounding a warning now: "New prisoners arrive in five minutes. All prisoners must remain at least 40 feet away from the gate." John watched the scene through the window. Soon, the long grey bus was making its way through the gate, past the checkpoints, until it stopped with a squeak inside the yard. The prisoners started filing out in a neat line, hands cuffed together in front of them. Even from that distance, John could sense their fear and trepidation. Those feelings were unfortunately quite justified for numerous reasons.  
The curly head made an appearance at the end of the line. John watched intently as the man stepped out of the door and surveyed the yard with boredom as if he was looking at a new flat to rent. He looked even more posh in real life, and frankly quite gorgeous. John winced at the thought of how prone to harassment he could be here. Poor sod.  
***  
The next day, John's first appointment was with Mr. Posh guy, whose name turned out to be a perfect suit for him: Sherlock Holmes. When John took a look at his full file, he was more convinced that the man did not belong here. He was rather young, 28 to be precise. He had a degree in chemistry, went to Harrow's, and then Cambridge. He even lived a few streets away from John's flat!  
Through the infirmary's glass door, Jon could see a guard escorting Sherlock into the room. He was now in his prison uniform; a blue shirt and navy blue trousers that were hanging loosely on the narrow hips. He stood by the door staring at John uncertainly, one soft curl partially covering his right eye.  
"Take a seat," John said pointing at the examination table. Sherlock walked slowly and sat, still staring at John.  
"I'm Sherlock" He finally said in a deep rumbling voice that was equally surprising and alluring.  
"Holmes. I read your file" John said without looking at him.  
"And you are?"  
"Dr. Watson will do" John said as he prepared the insulin shot "Your arm please"  
Sherlock rolled his sleeve and John swabbed the side of his arm with alcohol and administered the injection, feeling the piercing gaze on him.  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
John glanced from where the needle was still planted in the pale arm to see a look of amusement on Sherlock's face.  
"Sorry?" he said as he retracted the needle and pressed a piece of gauze in its place  
"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock repeated.  
"Hold this. Put pressure on it" John said and turned to remove his latex gloves and get rid of the used needle. He decided against answering after all. It was never a good idea to discuss personal matters with inmates, even if they were smart gorgeous inmates who had the eyes of a black panther and the lips of a Greek God.  
Sherlock apparently got the message and did not repeat the question, but he didn't stop talking either. John wondered how on earth he managed to be in a good mood, being trapped in this hell hole.  
"So, how do we play this? You hook me up with a few a few weeks' supply?" he asked rather playfully with a mischievous grin.  
John huffed a laughter as he filled some information in Sherlock's file "Nice try. No hypos on the floor"  
"I'm not after the drugs. Trust me." Sherlock's expression was solemn for a moment.  
"I got news for you, Sherlock, 'trust me' means absolutely zero inside these walls. The only way you're getting that insulin is if I'm administering it."  
"Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then." Sherlock's lips curved upward again.  
"I guess so," John could not help smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this is heavily based on Prison Break, I used to be obsessed with that show, that is before I watched Sherlock and my life was forever ruined of course. I'd like to point out that all information about prisons and prison slang is taken either from Prison Break or from movies like the SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION, So it is going to be a bit too American, plus my English is pretty Americanized as well so sorry! I unfortunately don't have a beta but let's just see how this goes! It's all for fun anyway. If you like this and think I should go on please leave a comment or Kudos or whatever, and if you have suggestions of critique I would love to hear it. Love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get to talk some more. Sherlock is acting suspicious for some reason.

John sat through Nurse Anderson's daily whining about everything that ever happened to him. He smiled to himself as he thought of how many push-up's he could give him if this was the army. He sighed thinking of the good old days.

John made his morning round, discharging patients who were in no need of staying over much longer at the infirmary. By now he was getting rather good at identifying those who were feigning just to avoid the yard for a bit longer. Unfortunately, he could not accommodate them as the infirmary was already overburdened and understaffed as it is.

He had just finished with the last patient when he heard voices outside the door. He listened to the conversation intently.

"You'd better be careful Holmes, with a mouth like that you won't last long in here" Officer Dimmock sneered.

"Just trying to fly low, avoid the radar. Do my time and get out." John recognized Sherlock's distinguished voice and posh accent.

"There ain't no flying under my radar" Dimmock sounded annoyed and agitated.

"Is"

"What?"

"There _is_ no flying under my radar"

John tried his best not to snort, and quickly intervened before the situation deteriorated.

"Thank you officer, I'll take it from here" He said to Dimmock. John never liked the man. He was foul and cruel, and rumors of him assaulting prisoners always seemed to have real basis to them.

"Sure doc." Dimmock glared at Sherlock as he uncuffed him and let him go inside.

Sherlock sat on the table and John could see a streak of blood on the side of his lip. He started cleaning the small cut with a swab.

"Well, I totally misjudged you. Picking up a fight on your second day, that's got to be a record"

"I didn't pick up a fight" Sherlock said indignantly "The other prisoner was being deliberately obtuse in answering my questions, so I started to deduce him. He didn't like it" he shrugged.

"Like you deduced I was in Afghanistan?"

Sherlock just smiled.

"And why were you asking other prisoners questions?"

Sherlock's face went passive and he stared at a point on the wall behind John.

"Tell me how you do it then, how did you know I was in Afghanistan?"

"I didn't know. I saw" Sherlock's face lit up "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. You favor your right side even though you are clearly left-handed. So, wounded in action, invalided and sent home. Afghanistan or Iraq."

John stared at him in disbelief. The man wasn't smart after all, he was a genius.

"That was amazing" the words came out of their own accord.

Sherlock stared back with narrowed eyes, inspecting John's face.

"Do you think so?" he asked dubiously, as if there was any question about how incredible that was.  
"Of course it was. It was quite extraordinary." John grinned.  
"That’s not what people normally say."  
"What do people normally say?"   
"Piss off"

The matter-of-fact tone with which he delivered the sentence combined with his face expression was so endearing it made John burst out laughing. Then he shook his head as he turned to get the insulin shot and the blood glucose meter. 

"What's this for?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the device.

"Just to take a look at your blood sugar, make sure everything's alright" John said even as he planted the needle in Sherlock's arm. He then proceeded to place the lancing pen on his finger to take a blood sample.

"Hmm…" John glanced in confusion at the number on the small screen.

"What?"

"Your blood glucose is at 15 milligrams per deciliter."

"So?"

"That's hypoglycemic. Your body's reacting to the insulin like you're not a diabetic. Are you sure it's Type 1 Diabetes you've got?"

"Ever since I was a kid."

"Alright. You're not experiencing any tingling sensation, cold sweats, anything?"

Sherlock shook his head, his face inscrutable.

"Okay I'd like to run some tests next time you're in. The last thing I want is to be administering insulin to a man who doesn't need it."

"Okay." Sherlock stood up, ready to leave.

"Stop provoking inmates and officers, or you're going to get killed in here, you know" John did not know why he said this, but it felt necessary to say it anyway.

"Says the man who invaded Afghanistan" Sherlock smirked.

"Hey, that wasn't just me" He giggled, actually giggled! God, how the hell did this turn into flirtation so quickly?

John sobered as he watch Sherlock leave, then took notice of Anderson staring at him suspiciously. He turned his head quickly and started getting rid of the used supplies.

***

The next day, John found himself waiting anxiously for Sherlock's visit. He tried to dismiss it as the natural excitement to meet a smart interesting person in a very unlikely place, but when he saw the curly head peering through the door again, his stomach flipped and twisted. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this, like a teenager with a crush.

Sherlock took a seat in front of him and John tried to school his expression into neutrality as he prepared the glucose meter. He then glanced at Sherlock to find him glaring at the device.

"How long does this take?" He asked as John swiped a drop of blood from his finger on a strip.

"Oh, about 10 seconds. Slide this drip into the meter and we're ready to go." John answered, holding out the device so that Sherlock could see. The screen said "Processing."

"I'm sure you know this but average glucose for a non-diabetic is about a hundred milligrams per deciliter, so if we see a number like that here, we know you've been misdiagnosed" John watched as Sherlock shifted in his seat.

"You seem nervous."

"I do?" his lips lifted in a tight smile.

"You're sweating."

"Must be the needles. Never really got used to them."

The device beeped and John and Sherlock turned to it in unison, though Sherlock could not see the result from his angle.

"Huh. Bad news, I'm afraid." He turned the screen to him again "180 milligrams per deciliter, you're definitely diabetic."

Sherlock's face broke into a smile of… relief? That was odd. John fixed him with a questioning look, but Sherlock kept smiling placidly.

"Do you need anything else from me?" He asked John.

"Arm to stick a needle in."

"Okay."

 

Sherlock was only gone for 15 minutes when John heard the commotion. He abandoned the files on his desk to find Dimmock and another officer supporting Sherlock. John surveyed him quickly, his body was curled around itself in agony, sweat streaming along his face, and blood running freely from his left foot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock kinda screws up, oops.

A cloud of dust and death engulfed everything around him. His heart was racing, but his hands were still steady, as he took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of blood and decay around him. For a moment, everything was in slow motion as he crouched with his medical supplies hugged to his chest, and then a yelp came from somewhere and his entire body was on alert and moving. He stared ahead but he could only see silhouettes running amidst the screen of sand that covered everything, then he heard a whisper to his left. He crawled to where the sound came from. It was so dark that he was startled when he felt a body right in front of him.

"Watson. Cloudy today, innit?" Jefferson tried to laugh but it came out as a wet cough.

John reached a hand and immediately felt the hot blood streaming from his chest, but just as he reached for his supplies, he felt a hot sharp pain cutting through him like a spear. His whole being shook and he was thrown back on the dirt next to Jefferson.

He tried to move again but he was shaking so violently he could not control his limbs. He turned his face to see Jefferson staring back at him, tears were now falling from his eyes, digging pale paths on the grimy face.

"I wish I was home" John heard him say before everything was swallowed by darkness.

 

John woke up with a start, his shoulder sending signals of dull ache to his brain. He looked around as he slowly regained awareness of his surroundings, and he was immediately and vividly reminded of the dream when his eyes fell on two irises glowing in the dark like a cat, staring at him.

He had fallen asleep in a chair by Sherlock's bed after tending to a severed toe. Officers claimed he had sustained it by stepping on a sharp tool. Rubbish.

"You were dreaming" Sherlock's voice was dulled by the painkillers, though his eyes were sharp as ever

"Did I say anything?" John shifted in his seat slowly.

Sherlock twisted in the bed to lie on his side facing John.

"No. You were in your REM stage of sleep judging by the continuous movements of your eyes, plus rapid respiration, face expression, and restlessness. What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing." John sat straight shaking the sleep out of his head "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing" Sherlock echoed.

"You understand that by law, I'm obligated to file a report if I feel there's been prisoner misconduct."

"Oh, no need, it was an accident. You should leave, John. Don't let me keep you from your plans."

"My plans?" John grinned.

"Yes. You had planned to go for a pint with a friend. He texted you twice while you were dozing" he said nodding at John's phone on the desk by the door.

John quirked an eyebrow at him "A friend? How do you know it isn't a date?"

"Please. You're not dating anyone"

"Really. Why is that?"

"Because of your gun"

John froze, his smile sliding slowly, cold fear trickling in his heart.

"My gun?"

"It is hard to remove the smell of gun powder entirely from one's hands, especially if they're constantly ' _cleaning_ ' their gun." He put an unpleasant emphasis on the word 'cleaning'.

"So?" his tone came more defensively than he had intended

"You are just back from the war, and between an abysmal military pension and this job you must only be able to afford a small flat where you keep a gun around that you constantly handle and even consider using. There is no way someone is visiting you often or else they would notice and do something about it. That said, with your PTSD and trust issue, there is very little chance you'd have met someone and started a relationship with them so soon after getting back."

John was torn between the impulse to utter a variant of the word 'amazing' and punch him, but all that came out was a short laughter.

"Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel special" and he got up and fled the room.

John eventually sent him off with antibiotics and a bad limp. In truth there was nothing more he could do, inmates showed up with much worse injuries on a regular basis, but never sought help or revealed their assailants. It was common conviction or a code of some sort that one ought to seek his own revenge, but never involve CO's in it. Therefore, John did not ask further question lest he gets Sherlock in even more trouble, but he could not ignore a strong instinct to try to help him.

***

 

The next morning, Sherlock was escorted to the infirmary again to get his shot and a change of bandage. He smiled at John when their eyes met, making him curse those perfect cheekbones framed so perfectly with dark tendrils of hair.

Not good, very not good. John started replacing the gauze quickly and efficiently, trying to clear his head.

"John H. Watson?" Sherlock asked putting stress on the H as he read John's name tag.

"Yup"

They were silent again for a couple of minutes. Sherlock seemed to be deep in thought until he spoke again.

"Henry?"

John failed to stifle a laugh but didn't answer.

"Okay." He cleared his throat "Looks good" he said finishing up with the bandage and turning around to get the shot.

This seemed to turn into some sort of challenge for Sherlock though. Over the next few days, and every time he came for his shot, he had a new bunch of name choices to badger John about.

What's more, some of them were outrageously horrid, even more so than John's real middle name. Sherlock must have deduced it was a stupid name, based on his absolute refusal to share it.

"Humphrey" Sherlock provided.

"No. Shut up about it already" John said, though he was rather amused by this. He had replied similarly to "Higgins, Harper, Herbert, and Hannibal"

 

On the fifth day, Sherlock did not mention any weird and outdated names. He just kept looking at John, eyes repeatedly falling to his mouth. John suppressed a shudder and busied himself with changing the gauze and checking on the wound.

All of a sudden, Sherlock leaned in and with a deep inhalation pressed his lips to John's. For a moment they breathed together and through each other, and then John closed his eyes and let Sherlock kiss him in earnest, lips turning and twisting heatedly but gently.

Sherlock reached a hand and threaded his fingers through John's hair, just as he bit delicately on his lower lip, but at that moment John suddenly became conscious of what he was doing and he pulled back abruptly.

"No" he said, his voice coming out hoarse.

"No?" Sherlock still had his hand cupped around John's head, and his eyes were soft and heavy-lidded.

"We can't do this. It's inappropriate and illegal, and I'd be taking advantage of you" John answered as he gently pulled away, letting Sherlock's fingers trace a path on his neck before they were completely off. The touch made him shudder and sigh.

"I don't feel taken advantage of"

John fought a valiant battle against the temptation to recapture the soft plush lips in his mouth again. He collected himself the best he could and said it again "No"

"I… I'll tell the nurse to finish changing your bandage."

****

 

John Watson was never the type to misplace his belongings. Army discipline combined with his own inclination for order and tidiness rendered him an excellent keeper of items, especially important ones, like his keys.

He groaned with frustration as he flipped and tossed everything in his office and the infirmary looking for them. His chain had several critical keys, one of which was the key to the infirmary.

When he asked Anderson if he had spotted them lying around, the nurse gave him the look… that look, the one saying he had fucked up. On the first day on the job John was lectured by the warden and almost everyone working at Pentonville about the importance of keeping keys safe and out of reach of prisoners.

He and Anderson searched the infirmary several times, but the little devils were nowhere to be found. He eventually gave up and had to ask Anderson to lock up, hoping he would find them the next day.

That night, lying in his bed, John could not help thinking of Sherlock kissing him, of the way their lips fit together effortlessly, and of Sherlock's hand sneaking into his hair… Sherlock's hands… his mind stuttered, as if trying to catch up with something rushing through it. He suddenly opened his eyes thinking of that sentence and why it triggered his brain.

He had had his keys with him when he arrived at work in the morning. He usually kept them in the pocket of his lab coat. He hadn't missed them until afternoon, after Sherlock had left, could it be?

The next day, John waited patiently for Sherlock's appointment. He had searched the place one more time and made sure the keys were not actually there.

John entered the examination room to find Sherlock waiting for him, sleeve rolled up.

"Hello" Sherlock said

"Hi" John answered stiffly.

"How are you?"

"Fine. You?" John looked steadily into his eyes as he put on his latex gloves.

"Fine"

"Your arm please" he said with complete clinical detachment.

Sherlock extended his bared arm, eyes searching John's face inquisitively, just as Anderson entered the room carrying some files. He rummaged in a drawer for a moment before he spoke to John.

"Hey, here they are"

John froze, still holding Sherlock's arm, needle inches away.

"Here what are?"

"Your keys, they were here the whole time, right under these files"

John kept glaring at Sherlock, and for just a fraction of a second, he caught a glimpse of what looked like regret in the grey eyes.

"There's a guy outside, says you wanted him to change the locks. Want me to call him off?" Dimmock said.

"Nope. Send him in." John said without breaking eye contact. He relished a trace of trepidation passing through Sherlock's face, but disappearing just as quickly. Huh, it's on then, he thought to himself.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I've got to apologize for the pretty lousy deductions, but if you have any suggestions or feedback it would be great to hear from you. Love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets some unexpected action.

Over the following days, John did his best to avoid Sherlock. He needed to think of his next step and therefore asked Anderson to give him his shots under various pretexts.

On one hand he couldn't risk revealing that snogging a prisoner had resulted in said prisoner nicking his keys, on the other, he didn't want Sherlock to be thrown in solitary confinement. He was in enough trouble as it was.

At any rate, there were other pressing matters at hand. A storm was coming, and everyone at Pentonville recognized the calm before storms. The atmosphere at the facility was charged with tension and anticipation. John found it rather fascinating, like watching animals crouching, getting ready to pounce at each other. Prisoners fought over things like money, drugs, race, or just sheer boredom. Sometimes they had demands when they pulled a full-fledged riot, but other times they were just too pent-up. Anyway, it was just a matter of when a lockdown was going to happen really.

The increased cell inspections down at the general population never really yielded real results. All CO's could do was wait for the riot to start and enforce a lockdown until things calmed down.

And then one day it started. It was a hot day, too hot even for July, and it seemed to do the trick and trigger things into action. John had been called into sickbay in B wing to check on several patients there when he overheard a message on Officer Dimmock's radio.

"Hey, this is Mack in cell block. We've got some cons popping off"

To which Dimmock's annoyed reply was to nip it in the bud or "don't cash your paycheck." When he saw John coming he looked annoyed and gave him a tight smile.

"It's not a good time, doc." He said with a huff of annoyance, as if John was the cherry on the top of his shitty day.

"I just got a call a prisoner is suffering from heat exhaustion."

"He's faking it."

"Is that your medical opinion?" John gave him his own not-too-pleasant smile.

"We've got a bunch of overheated cons loud in A-wing."

"Surely you can handle it" John said as he put on his white coat.

"Everything's under control but you should go back to the infirmary building. When things calm down, I'll have your patients transferred from sick bay" he paused and tried to smile conspiratorially at John "Just looking out for your best interests," he added

"And I appreciate that, Officer, but you and I both know that it's illegal to deny a prisoner medical care and you could lose your job over it. Now, I'm just looking out for _your_ best interests."

Dimmock's smile slid quickly off his face as he moved aside to let John pass "Of course. Go ahead" he said, and turned to go, leaving John with Smith, who wasn't nearly as much of a git.

 

As John tended to the few patients at sickbay, things seemed to deteriorate next-door, as Smith's radio could be heard from where he stood by the door.

"Inmates in cell block are compromised lockdown and breached A-wing through the guard's station. A-wing is shutting down"

So, things were worse than usual. The prisoners whooped and cheered around him. John exchanged a quick look with Smith, who continued talking over the radio

"This is Smith. A-wing need back up? Over."

"Negative. A-wing is evacuating and locked down. Remain in B-wing."

Everything happened in what felt like seconds, John had turned his back on the room to get a syringe when he heard a thump and a muffled groan. All he could do in the precious moment he had was shove the needle in his pocket to hide it, he turned and as expected, saw smith on the floor grabbing his head and groaning. He felt is vision blur as someone hit him from behind and something sharp was pressed to his neck. The largest of the inmates was holding him in a death grip, and another one reached and took the handcuffs from Smith's belt and handed them to John.

"Cuff him" the con spit the words in John's ear.

The next thing John did was simply stupid, but he was not planning on being taken hostage for the inmates to dangle to the guards any time soon. So, he pulled out the needle from his pocket and shoved it in the hand of the inmate who was grabbing him. Luckily, it seemed that the act was so reckless his assailant did not expect it, so instead of responding, he just recoiled with a yelp of pain.

"Run" John shouted and Smith bolted through the door leading to the hallway just as the inmates surrounded John, standing between him and the way out. In his head, he pictured the possible scenarios. The only way was the door leading to the office behind him, and inside there was another door, but it was a dead end for all he knew, and they would soon catch up with him. Still, it was his only chance, and his quick reflexes had always got him out of tight corners, even if barely.

Just as they moved toward him, he ducked and slid his hand on the handle, went inside the office and bolted the door with a chair. It was only a matter of time before they broke in, as the prize now was not just a hostage. This was the room where the drugs were stored as well. John headed for the other door, having no clue where it led. Outside, he found himself in a hallway not unlike the one on the other side, and he could see another rusty old door in the far end, though it looked like it hadn't been opened in years.

The moment he reached the door, he could hear the inmates successfully breaking in the room he just left, but as expected, the old door did not budge no matter how much he tried to open it.

Well, fuck.

All he could do was lean against the door and wait for the inevitable. He wondered where Smith had gotten and how long it would take him to send help.

Suddenly, he was flat on his back looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. He felt someone drag him inside, and tried to resist and aim a kick at whoever it was until he recognized the pale eyes staring at him. It was Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have the next chapter.  
> BTW sorry for all the mistakes I must be making, Sherlock would be appalled, but please keep in mind English is not my first language.  
> Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes some important discoveries.

 

John was being led through a part of the facility he had never stepped foot in before, yet Sherlock was striding confidently down the hallways. The view around them transformed as they crossed different sections, and John thought they must be in a different wing by now, because the walls gradually started looking more polished and clean. It must have been the part where administrative offices resided.

Until this point John hadn't said anything, but they had been walking for 10 minutes now and he had no clue what the hell was going on.

"Sherlock, what… where are we going?"

"You need to see something" He said without stopping.

"No. stop right there. Tell me what is going on and where we're going. How did you find me?"

Sherlock turned around and met his eyes "I saw you on the monitor in the officers' surveillance room after the prisoners broke into it" he shrugged.

"How did you know where to go?" John asked again.

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it. He seemed to be trying to decide on something.

"John, I think it's time you know… I'm not who you think I am"

"I figured. Who are you?"

Sherlock seemed reluctant to answer, so John asked another question.

"Why did you steal my keys?"

John blinked as he watched Sherlock smile fondly at him "I underestimated you," he said, still smiling "I shouldn’t have thought you wouldn't suspect anything. No, you're too smart"

He paused for a moment and his expression was serious again.

"I'm a consulting detective, I work with the police. I'm under cover on a case I've been following for some time now"

"Right. Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"We'll have all the time in the world to prove it to you. Right now I need to show you something. I need your help John, please" his eyes were open and pleading, somehow stripping John of all his defenses. He sighed in resignation and found himself walking behind a possibly insane prison inmate again.

They reached a big double door that led into an office. As soon as John stepped inside he knew something was wrong, and his feeling was confirmed when his eyes fell on the man lying on the floor just behind the desk.

"Shit." John said and quickly kneeled next to the body. He recognized the officer, Johnson. He hadn't known him well, but he had seemed nice. The back of his head was covered in blood. It looked like he was hit with something heavy, John felt for a pulse but the man was clearly gone.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked calmly behind him.

"What do I… Sherlock, how did the hell this happen? How did the inmates get in here?"

"Oh. So you assume an inmate did it"

"Well yes… with the riot and all. They breached cell block, I heard it on the radio." John said, though he felt unsure under Sherlock's skeptical gaze.

"Look at the body and tell me what you see" he said.

John turned back to the officer's body. He looked closely at his face and hands. They were unmarked, as were his clothes and hair.

"There are no signs of struggle" John said more to himself.

"Odd don't you think? And he was hit from behind, do you really think he would have turned his back to a con?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe he snuck up on him"

"No. he's been dead since morning. Before anything even started"

"You can't possibly know that by looking at him"

"Obvious. Look at his shirt, it still looks clean and pressed, no sweat or wrinkles. In this heat? He didn't even leave this office before he was killed. Besides, his wedding band is still on his finger and he has cash in his wallet, I checked. Don't you think an inmate would have taken either?"

John kept staring up at him, torn between amazement and disbelief, but everything Sherlock said made sense so far. Maybe he was telling the truth after all. John did feel like this man did not belong here the moment he laid eyes on him.

"Haven't you wondered how inmates managed to breach cell block?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know, this building is old, maybe they broke out through one of the doors or something."

"No" Sherlock shook his head "the doors are electronic and reinforced and the only way to get out is to use one of the officers' keys"

"So? They stole one of the guard's keys? Not unlike what you did" John retorted, a tone of anger in his voice.

"No" Sherlock said again, seemingly unperturbed at the remark "One of the officers intentionally left his keys behind for the inmates to find. He wanted the riot to intensify so that everyone would assume inmates got to this office and killed this man. Very convenient isn't it? You want to blame your crime on someone else and you have a whole bunch of criminals at your disposal."

"Why would anyone want to do that though?"

"Because Johnson knew something he shouldn't have. The same thing I've been investigating at the infirmary"

John opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Sherlock lifted a finger to his lips, eyes going wide.

"Someone is coming" he whispered "come on."

They got out of the office and barely managed to cross the hallway and hide behind an alcove before someone appeared on the other end. They couldn't get a good look at whoever it was from where they were hiding.

"Come on. We'd better stay somewhere safe until this is over."

They started walking again, Sherlock leading, until they reached a door half hidden behind a large file cabinet. Inside, there were pieces of old furniture, including desks, chairs, and an old bunker bed. It was dark and quiet. All John could hear was Sherlock's breathing and soft rustle of clothes as he moved close by.

John's mind was still racing. He was thinking of everything Sherlock had said. It was silly and childish of him, but all he could think of was the fact that he had only been a pawn in his scheme after all.

"What were you investigating in the infirmary?" he whispered in the dark as he slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He felt Sherlock moving to sit next to him.

"It all started with another case I was working on before I came here. We knew the Italian mob had been striking more drug deals lately, bigger even, but no one knew with whom. I traced their transactions to here. Just as I suspected, they've been smuggling the drugs into the prison."

"But that's ridiculous, how could they possibly do that with all the security measures around here?" John asked.

"Using the right means, and the right people. The infirmary is the weakest link in the security chain here, so that's where I started. The night I nicked your keys I knew for certain the drugs were being hidden inside boxes of medical supplies. No one suspected anything, and the right people were always there to receive the goods and hand them over to the members of the mafia on the inside."

"But is it worth it? I mean prisoners don't have much money after all"

"Their families do. It's very lucrative if you think about it. Inmates would do just about anything to get their hands on some drugs here, and so more and more of them had been spending what little savings they had on the outside, or asking their families for money, or simply doing the mafia's bidding, no questions asked."

John was quiet for a moment, but he couldn’t resist the urge to ask the question that was bothering him the most.

"So, you've been coming to the infirmary for your investigation. And I was what? A tool for you to use in the process?"

Sherlock was silent, but John knew he turned to face him, his breath was warm on his cheek.

"Are you even diabetic?"

"No." Sherlock finally said.

John heaviness in his chest, and clenched his fists, but Sherlock spoke again.

"First I needed to be there, but then I wanted to be there… with you"

Then, John felt rather than saw Sherlock move closer. He realized what was going to happen one moment before their lips collided.

John had never kissed or been kissed like that before, all of his senses were invested and engrossed in savoring the taste and texture of Sherlock's mouth beneath him, he didn't know how long it lasted, but he couldn't peel himself away from the perfect lips.

"Hamish" John whispered when they broke apart for breath.

"What?"

"John Hamish Watson" He said, and they kissed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you watched Orange is the New Black you'd know I kinda stole the drugs story from it. I love that show.  
> Also.. I intentionally made Sherlock younger cause this case would be like a 5 for him.. but maybe a younger Sherlock with less experience would find it harder I guess..
> 
> Next chapter is the last one :) Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock try to leave, but it's not as easy as they think.

After some waiting, the coast seemed clear, Sherlock had peered through the door to see if anyone was outside before he told John he would get him out through the visitation room.

"But why won't you come with me?" John protested

"I'm one of the bad guys, remember?" Sherlock answered with a smile as they left the room and headed for the visitation section. The electricity was out, which could only mean that the police was surrounding the facility and attempting to strip the prisoners of their defenses.

When they reached the visitation hall, they were in for a surprise as a huge figure appeared, blocking their way.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

John immediately recognized the gaunt face and the greasy long hair. Angelo Costello was one of the most notorious mob bosses in London. He had only been sent to prison after one of his own employees had testified against him in court.

"You know, I was wrong to tell my boys to get me a toe. I should have asked for that sharp tongue of yours to be cut off, pretty boy"

John stepped in front of Sherlock without thinking, he felt anger rise in his chest as he remembered the agony Sherlock was in when he came to the infirmary with a bloody foot.

"You don't want to do this Costello," he said, while his brain frantically raced to come up with a plan "do you really want to answer for this on top of the trouble you're already in?"

"Oh, not to worry doc., you and your boyfriend here will be just another two victims of this chaos. We even have the law on our side," he let out an ugly laugh, revealing yellow broken teeth.

"Where is he, then?" John heard Sherlock ask behind him.

At that moment another figure appeared next to Costello

"Told you to stay away doc., but did you listen?"

"Dimmock, are you insane? Do you really think you won't get caught?" John stared incredulously as the officer stood next to Costello.

"Oh I won't, even Mr. Genius here didn't know it was me"

"As a matter of fact I did." Sherlock said sounding too calm, given the situation they were in. John turned his face to glare at him, why couldn't he shut up for just one minute!

"I see you're missing your keys, officer" he said again to Dimmock.

"I guess I lost them in the commotion" Dimmock shrugged, feigning innocence and surprise.

Everything happened so quickly, it felt like it was less than a second. John felt Sherlock's hand nudging his back, at first he didn’t understand, but then he looked at Costello again, and saw a bright red point right above his heart. Snipers outside could see them through the windows, and they must have thought John was being held hostage.

It was clear Costello had no clue and Dimmock was standing behind him, unable to see the mark either. Suddenly, Sherlock was grabbing John by the shoulders and screaming at him to get down.

John could only hear gunshots, screams, and a chopper outside. When he opened his eyes, Costello was on the floor bleeding, but Dimmock was nowhere to be seen. John shifted and realized he was being held tightly in Sherlock's arms.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked him, his voice cracking as they inhaled the dust now enveloping the room.

"Yeah, are you?" he asked, trying to turn around and look at him.

"Hm? Yeah fine. Come on, you need to leave this place."

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere smartass."

They were barely on their feet when Dimmock jumped, launching himself on Sherlock, who met him halfway with a knee aimed at his chest.

Dimmock half exhaled half coughed with a choked noise, and John took the chance and aimed a punch at him, knocking him over. John kneeled next to him, he was very much alive, only knocked out. He looked up at Sherlock, who actually looked disappointed.

"That was boring" he said, glaring at the officer's motionless body.

John started giggling uncontrollably, possibly due to the rush of adrenaline, and soon Sherlock joined him.

"Stop, we can't giggle here!"

"You started it!"

"Come on, you're leaving with me"

"I can't John, I'm still in prison uniform, and the only person who knows I'm undercover is my obnoxious brother."

"So stand behind me, I am not leaving you in this place." John glared at him until he seemed to relent.

It turned out they didn't have to worry, because as soon as they got out to the yard outside, a posh voice was sounding a warning from the chopper.

"Do not shoot at Sherlock Holmes."

***

The hours afterwards were the longest in John's life. They police stormed the building and ended the riot. Dimmock was arrested and taken away, and Sherlock was being scolded by the owner of the posh voice from the helicopter, who turned out to be his (true to Sherlock's words) obnoxious older brother.

"You know you could have solved this case from your flat, but you were too bored weren't you Sherlock" Mycroft said, sighing in exasperation "I hope you had fun being tortured by the Italian mob and getting stuck in a bloody prison riot."

"Piss off Mycroft. John and I are going home"

Only then did Mycroft spare John a glance, he had the same scientist-dissecting-a-specimen look as Sherlock, but that was as far as the siblings' similarity went. Mycroft was cold and condescending, whereas Sherlock was curious and endearingly invested in every small detail.

"Very well. I will inform D.I. Lestrade that you shall give your statements later. Go home and take a shower, you smell like prison."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took John by the arm. They got in a luxurious black car that Mycroft had apparently arranged for them. John planned to ask Sherlock who exactly his brother was and what he did later on. Not now though, all he wanted this moment was to shower and rest with Sherlock by his side and as far from Pentonville as possible.

****

John opened his eyes slowly, adjusting them to the morning light spilling through the window. For a moment he had no idea where he was, but then he felt the warm body lying in his arms. He buried his nose in the soft curls, inhaling the heady scent. It occurred to him that he did not have one bad dream that night, he had slept like a baby. He wondered if it was because of the thrill they had they day before, or because of being with Sherlock, though he doubted the two could be separated.

Sherlock stirred then, and lifted his head to look at John.

"Morning" John said, trying his best not to sound too soppy as he stared at the perfect face.

"Morning" Sherlock smiled and snuggled even closer. They lied in each other's arm, taking in each other's warmth for some time.

"I play the violin, and sometimes I don't speak for days on end" Sherlock suddenly said in a perfectly neutral voice.

"Do you really?" John was impressed he played the violin, though he didn't quite get the point of the statement "You'll have to play for me some time."

"I'm just saying, potential flat mates should know the worst about each other beforehand." Sherlock answered, sighing as John traced a finger down his face.

"Sherlock Holmes" John said, grinning "Are you asking me to live with you?"

"Maybe" Sherlock said, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Yes" John said and kissed his lips softly.

The kiss became deeper and more heated, and John gradually moved, leaning his forearms on the matters to kiss him properly.

Sherlock stopped kissing him for a moment, he was panting and his eyes were dark with lust and John just couldn't stop himself from moving down onto the long pale neck. He mouthed slowly at the delicate skin, inhaling a scent that lit his insides on fire. Sherlock moaned softly beneath him, and he knew then he wouldn't be able to stop until he tasted ad worshipped every bit of that body

One of his hands went down Sherlock's cheek, down his neck, onto his chest and lifted the loose him of his T-shirt. Moments later John had a feast of pale skin laid beneath him, he groaned as he dragged his mouth and nose all over the delicious torso.

He stared at one of Sherlock's pink nipples before he licked it, Sherlock shivered and moaned more loudly, and John tasted him again, this time wrapping his lips around the small nub, making Sherlock jerk and arch his back.

At this point John was hovering over his long body, but when their bodies brushed he felt Sherlock's very hard erection against his hip.

Suddenly all that mattered in the world was getting his hand there. He swiftly pulled Sherlock's trousers down his thighs, while still kissing and teasing at his nipples.

He let his lips drag over the taut muscles of the gorgeous body until it hit something soft and hard, making Sherlock shudder and grab his shoulders harder.

He opened his eyes and realized the head Sherlock's cock was poking out of his underwear, already wet and slippery, and without thinking he started kissing it slowly.

"John" Sherlock's voice was harsh as he thrashed on the bed, moving to get John to touch more of him.

John couldn't wait either even if he wanted to. He pulled Sherlock's underwear down and was finally able to drink in the whole view.

Sherlock was lying limp on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and gulping air, face and neck flushed, and chest heaving. The beautiful terrain of his chest and abdomen smoothed gradually into the dip just below his hip bones, where his flushed cock lied delicately.

The sight was too much for John, his body acted of its own accord. He reached his hand into his own sweatpants and started tugging at himself urgently just as he went down and swallowed Sherlock ravenously.

He was engulfed by the taste and smell and sound of his lover, it wasn't long before he was relishing a creamy warm liquid as Sherlock came with a shout, and it wasn't long either before John was having the best orgasm in his life.

He climbed up and lied next to Sherlock again, placing his head on the pale chest, listening to the fast thud of his heart.

"Did you mean it" Sherlock whispered as he put his arms around John's shoulders.

"Hmm?"

"Will you move in with me?"

"Well, yeah. Who could say no to this excellent location" John said, and they both giggled quietly and held each other closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! that was fun to write!
> 
> Thanks very much for reading.  
> Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos, and if anyone has a comment, feedback, or just wants to say hi, please go ahead, I love hearing from you guys :)
> 
>  
> 
> Love! xoxoxox


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